


the way we want each other

by imissmaeberry



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Reader-Insert, Shy Wen Jun Hui | Jun, perhaps i love.....icarus metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-06 00:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16821424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imissmaeberry/pseuds/imissmaeberry
Summary: everything about him burns you, drags you into his sunshine presence in ways you can’t help but adore. when he offers you the chance to fall farther, you want so badly to deny him.but you find yourself unable to deny him.





	1. burnt wings discarded

“do you want to have sex with me?”

he’s drunk, the first time he says it.

* * *

but he isn't when he asks you again; when he invites you out for ice cream and says the words too casually, as if they belonged among the hot fudge and sprinkles and too-many toppings to be chosen from. he regards you casually, as if the answer means nothing to him either way. 

as if your response won't change everything.

“it doesn’t have to mean anything. you know, like friends with benefits?”

maybe not for him, you think. but for you it means so much more.

everything about him is a blinding contradiction - you feel like icarus flying into the sun every time you find yourself in his presence. he is soft smiles and bright confidence, whispered teases and too-long touches that burn your skin.

you stay quiet, moving along the topping bar and adding a few of this, a few of that. pretending not to hear him. 

“what do you think?” he asks. “or do you find me not attractive? did you like my hair better when it was black?”

you don’t have to look at him to know that he’s smirking. you roll your eyes and try to tamp down at the way his words are wringing their way into your chest. you say nothing, worrying your lip between your teeth. 

he sighs. “if you don’t want to all you have to do is say so. it’s not a benefit if you don’t want to do it. we can just stay friends.”

you bristle at his words. you steel yourself. this is a _terrible_ idea.

you agree to his terms.

he smiles wide, eyes excited.

you tell him today isn’t a good day, that you have plans after this, that you’re too busy at work - you’re not even sure if he’d meant for you to do anything right away. you’re sure your face is flushed. 

“that’s fine. we don’t have to do anything right away, you know. just an idea for something we can uh...do....together...just text me, okay?” his eyes look for yours and he smiles, softer, almost childlike, and your heart hammers in your chest

_this is a terrible idea_

you hold out as long as you possibly can

about 4 days. 

he texts you every day after the day of your agreement and every time your phone goes off your heart climbs into your throat, wondering if it’s him going back on his word, trying to push you to give in to his advances, but they never are, and it’s almost worse. 

he’s asking after your work, asking if you’re taking care of yourself and sleeping well, sending cute pictures of cats he sees while he’s out and about, funny signs he sees in shop windows, flowers growing along the sidewalk. 

on day four, you text him. 

‘do you want to come over tonight?’

‘oh, are you done with your work stuff? do you need to get rid of some stress ;)’

you nearly roll your eyes at his response, but you can’t deny that your stomach is in knots knowing that after so long you’re finally going to feel him against you in ways you’ve dreamed about for nearly as long as you’ve known him

when he arrives, he has that stupid soft happy smile on his face. he takes you into his arms, and when he pulls back, he takes your face into his hands and asks if he can kiss you.

you let him. 

it’s better than you’ve ever imagined, and you can’t help but whimper into his mouth, and he groans

memories become blurred after that. 

his mouth is hot on your skin, and it’s everywhere _everywhere_ , and your memory is a mess of moans and whimpers and whispered filth dripping from his soft mouth.

your throat goes sore from screaming his name. your thighs go sore from the way he’d spread them too-wide as his tongue lapped at you, the way they’d been pulled over his shoulders as he fucked you on his cock until tears streamed down your face and you came around him and he bit deep into your shoulder.

you wake up to an empty bed. 

you’re not surprised. there are a few texts from him waiting on your phone, emojis and the words ‘that was fun!’ ‘glad we finally did that’. you pull the covers over your head and try to stop the vice grip of pain creeping into your chest.

it goes on for a few months. but in that time things between you change: he starts to show up with food and kiss you softly when he enters, he holds your hand when he pushes you over the edge again and again. he stays the night, holding your body close to his, pressing kisses and drawing patterns into your skin. on more than one occasion you wake up to him carefully making breakfast for the two of you, smiling soft and fond when he sees you make your way our of your room, holding out a cup of coffee made just how you like it.

at six months you decide you can’t take it anymore. 

his face falls, and he looks at you with hurt and confusion clearly writ into his face. “i don’t understand.” he bites his lip and his gaze flits between your face and your floor. “i thought everything was fine.”

you haven’t been fine in a while. every time you see him your wax-and-feather wings begin to dismantle further as adoration wraps your heart like a vice, possession seeping into your stomach, knowing he isn’t really yours. all of this had only served to make him feel less yours. he could never be yours.

you say nothing.

“did i do something? have i hurt you somehow?”

you bark out a harsh laugh. 

you start to cry. no, you tell him, he’s done everything right. that’s the problem. you sigh shakily. you tell him that you’ve only hurt yourself.

he stands from your couch and takes your face in his hands, thumbs swiping away tears from your cheeks. “let me fix this. i can’t stand to see you like this. tell me how to fix this, please."

your hands clutch in his shirt and you lean your face into the palm of one of his hands. “you aren’t mine."

“i am.” he argues, face shocked for the briefest moment. “i’ve always been yours. this - this whole thing, it’s - it’s never been just sex for me but i couldn’t….i didn’t know how to go about it. i didn’t - baby, if i had known….” he sighs and presses his forehead against yours.

you cry harder, too many emotions hurricaning through your chest, tears falling in thick streams over your cheeks. 

“i’m yours.” he repeats, eyes frantic as if he doesn’t make you see that he’ll go mad. “i’m yours in every possible way if you’ll have me.”

you let out a shaky breath, lean your head up and bring yourself close to his lips, waiting, breath held in a bubble in your throat.

he leans down and kisses you, soft, and it’s better than everything you’d ever imagined. his lips touch yours and they _belong_ , and it feels so, so right. 

“i love you,” he whispers, pulling back and holding you close against his chest, leaning down to press kisses into your hair. “i love you.”

“i love you too, junhui.” you whisper back, his name a shaky exhale. 

“say it again for me, baby?” he asks. he pulls back to look you in the eyes, his cheeks flushed and suddenly shy.

“i love you, junhui. i’m yours in every possible way.”

you untie the straps of your melted-wax wings and let the feeling of his lips against yours give you flight instead, happy to be burned by his light


	2. digging and diving deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> junhui has probably loved you from the moment he saw you. he selfishly craves every bit of your affection, and digs himself even deeper by asking you to give him even more - to take your friendship even further. but that’s not really what he wants.
> 
> junhui's pov~

“do you want to have sex with me?”

he’s drunk, the first time he asks, but drunk words are sober thoughts, and when he wakes up the next morning with a painful fog behind his eyes, he remembers your lack of response.

* * *

he’s not drunk when he invites you to get ice cream, walking quietly into the too-cold store, but his chest is buzzing with anxiety and his stomach is in knots.

he asks again, fighting to keep his tone neutral as he spoons bits of mochi into his cup. 

you look up at him out of the corner of your eyes, and he finds you hard to read. 

something about you makes him think about how he’d love nothing more than to drown in you, to swallow down whatever you will give him until his lungs are full and he’s gasping, desperate for more. 

you look up at him, and something in your eyes tells him he shouldn’t be doing this. you look away from him and his chest tightens.

this is a _terrible idea._

he hears himself say that it doesn’t have to mean anything, feels the way his tongue shifts in his own mouth, but the feeling is not there - there are feelings hidden away behind his teeth that he cannot bring himself to express, but sex with you could never mean nothing. he doesn’t know why he’s doing this.

well, that’s not quite true. if he’s honest with himself, he’s intimately aware. 

there’s a little green monster that hides behind his heart, a little green monster that sets an acidic fire into his veins every time you laugh and it’s not his joke, that soft sweet smile of yours directed at anything he hasn’t done, when he sees a sweet blush on your cheeks that someone else has caused. 

he wants to have you in whatever way he can, and he knows it’s selfish. he knows that you deserve someone who can be open in their affections without hiding behind a guise of mutually beneficial sexual favors. he knows this, and _yet_.

you don’t respond to him again, and he panics. he jokes about how maybe you find him unattractive, maybe you liked his old hair better, and his heart is hammering in his chest and he wonders vaguely if you can hear it, if it’s the reason for your hesitance. 

he sees you roll your eyes and he sighs. he could never force you into doing something, and if you’re clearly this disinterested, he thinks he should maybe take the hint. he’d rather keep you in his life then continue pushing things and lose you entirely.

he tells you that all you have to do is say no, and he watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath before opening them.

“okay.”

he almost misses it, your voice soft. he blinks, and you squirm under his gaze and repeat yourself. 

“okay. let’s do it.”

he smiles, he can’t even help himself for the light feeling tearing through his chest, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

“but we can’t fuck tonight. i….” you trail off and his heart is hammering in his chest. “i have plans tonight, i’m really busy this week at work, um...”

he nods, stumbling over his words to assure you that he’s fine with that, to just let him know when you were ready. 

truthfully, if you had wanted to immediately go home with him he’s pretty sure he would have combusted right there on the spot, his brain would have gone entirely into overdrive, he would have melted into himself. he’s more than glad to give you the control here, to wait until you need him.

junhui has never considered himself to be a patient man. his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, more than he normally does, and minghao continuously tells him to just text you already because he can practically see the nervous energy coming off of him in waves. 

“she’s already agreed to it. nothing else has really changed. if you want to text her so badly, just fucking do it, junhui.”

he decides it won’t hurt to inquire after your work, to make sure you’re sleeping well and taking care, and when you respond with a smile emoji and ‘i appreciate you asking, junhui’, his nerves melt out of him and he finds himself sending you pictures of things that remind him of you or things he think would make you smile in the days after you make your agreement.

junhui has never considered himself a patient man, so when you text him asking him to come over, his chest fills with a buzzing excitement, an almost quiet sort of desperation. he paces, heart hammering, fingers twitching as he responds and rolls his eyes at his own words, but you don’t change your mind and the weight of what’s about to happen suddenly hits him like a train. 

he wants to make it good for you. he wants nothing more than to please you, in whatever way he could, however you would allow, and now you’re going to allow him that in such an intimate way, and he’s - he’s _nervous_. you mean so much.

he fidgets as he stands before your door, mind running ten thousand miles a second, shifting his weight on his feet for a minute or five before he knocks on your door. when you open your door his nerves fade instantly, the sight of your soft smile drawing out one of his own. he steps through the doorway and takes you into his arms, arms wrapping tightly round your waist before he pulls back and takes your face into his hands, asks softly if he can kiss you. 

you nod, and he leans in, and you’re everything he’s ever ever dreamed of and more, here in his hands like this, lips moving gently against his. you whimper and fireworks explode behind his eyes and a groan rips itself from his throat. 

he clutches you tighter against him and your fists bunch in the fabric of his shirt and things become blurred as you tug at his clothes, impatient. both of you, every move, impatient. 

he remembers everything in slow motion when he wakes up in your bed, hours later, the room and the sky outside dark, a streetlight outside the window the only light within the room. he sits up slowly in your bed and admires you, chest slowly rising and falling.

he remembers the way you had begged for him, soft and quiet and needy, and how he had given in immediately to every word dripping from your mouth. he remembers the taste of your skin as he kissed his way down your body to the sweet place between your thighs, to taste and please and hear you whine his name.

he remembers the way you had felt with your legs thrown over his shoulders, so close and hot and tight, so _perfect_.

he hates himself as he pulls himself from bed and gathers his clothes, stilling as he hears you shift in the bed. he looks up, eyes wide and heart hammering, but sees that you’re still asleep, arm thrown over the space where his body had just been, a frown on your beautiful face. he hates himself as he dresses and slips quietly out of the apartment. he hates the texts he sends you, as if what has just happened was something fun but meaningless. 

he stays in his room for the first few days afterwards, barely sleeping, ignoring his phone and moving eerily quiet through his apartment while minghao can only watch, concerned. 

he refuses to act that way again, moving forward. 

junhui allows himself to be soft with you, to let himself try to show you through his actions that this isn’t just sex, that he craves every single piece and part of you. he handles you gently, gives you kisses and praise and holds you so closely that he can only hope to imprint his love onto your skin. 

he wishes, constantly, that he were better with words. 

“we have to stop doing this. i can’t...i can’t do this anymore, junhui.”

your words words cut through him like a hot knife through ice and his heart drops into his stomach. his mind is one blaring alarm of what he could have done that lead you to this point. he doesn’t see the point in trying to keep the hurt feelings off of his face. 

his brain feels like mush as it works to try and understand, but he can’t, and he tells you as much. he asks what he’s done wrong. what has he done that’s hurt you.

“you haven’t done anything wrong. you’ve done everything right. that’s....that’s the _problem_.” you give a shaky, watery sigh. “the only one who’s hurt me is myself.”

the tears trailing down your face have him sprinting off the couch, cupping your face and begging to fix it. he’d do anything to fix it, to keep you.

“you aren’t mine.” you whisper it, and his heart shatters and he can’t help but berate himself for letting things get this far, for letting you think that you could ever only be something sexual to him.

he stresses that he is, he has always been and _will always_ be yours, if he had only know you’d been tormented this way he could have ended this pain for the both of you. he wishes he’d been able to look past his own pain to have seen yours.

your tears fall harder and the seams that had kept him quiet all these months fade away and he reiterates that he belongs to you in every possible way. you lean up and he meets your lips, soft and sweet and desperate to prove the way he adores you.

“i love you.” he whispers, “i love you.”

you say it back and his body seizes quickly before every part of him relaxes, melting into your touch. he asks you to say it again.

you repeat yourself, and he leans down to kiss you again, diving in and ready to drown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on Tumblr @ [seungcheolsbodyharness](https://seungcheolsbodyharness.tumblr.com)


End file.
